Poems, The Baboon Congress

Century House

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Today’s guest post comes from Verily Sherrilee

My house is 100 years old this year. When I purchased it, it was a ways off from the big 1-0-0 and I didn’t think too much about the age, but now that we’re at the century mark, it occurs to me that this is a remarkable number. If the house were a person, a birthday card from Obama would be showing up this year.

I never learned any house-handy maintenance tricks when I was growing up. My mother was a great gardener and both my parents were terrific at remodeling rooms, steaming off wall paper and hanging new. But other than that, neither of them was all that handy. Of course we moved around A LOT when I was growing up so may we weren’t in a house long enough for anything to go wrong.

100House3

So I’ve had to learn my own maintenance skills. Luckily I live near a GREAT hardware store with great staff who are very patient with my questions; they didn’t even laugh when it took me FOUR trips one weekend to finally finish the great woodwork mitering project before Baby came. These days the internet helps as well; I was able to figure out how to change the insides of my kitchen faucet by looking it up on YouTube! Among other things over the years I’ve 100House2replaced sash windows, changed out electrical switches, redone the baseboard woodwork, cemented a gap between the house and steps and, of course, put in many new toilet flush valves and flappers. It’s always something around an old house.

So this poem really resonated with me when I ran across it.

Handyman

The morning brought such a lashing rain

I decided I might as well stay inside

And tackle those jobs that had multiplied

Like an old man’s minor aches and pains.

I found a screw for the strikerplate,

Tightened the handle on the bathroom door,

Cleared the drain in the basement floor,

And straightened the hinge for the backyard gate.

Each task had been a nagging distraction,

An itch in the mind, a dangling thread;

Knocking a tiny brass brad on the head,

I felt an insane sense of satisfaction.

Then I heard a great crash in the yard.

The maple had fallen and smashed our car.

“Handyman” by Barton Sutter from Farewell to the Starlight in Whiskey. © BOA Editions, 2004.

Do you have a maintenance skill you’re proud of?

The Baboon Congress

Creative Caretakers Spiff Up Property

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Today is the first day since I began my blogular sabbatical that Baboons have not offered a post to keep the conversation going.

And here we are in the second week of August.  More than two months without a gap.  Well done!

In case you were wondering, traffic on Trail Baboon has not suffered in my absence.  On the contrary, your self-selected topics have generated more conversation and higher numbers all around.

Below you can see Trail Baboon’s weekly statistics since early this year.  The rise on the right end of the screen represents your engagement with and response to Baboon-written posts.

Screenshot 2015-08-09 at 9.47.04 PM

A friend asked me last week how the blog sabbatical was going, and I explained it by noting that in South Africa, if you leave a window open, Baboons will come in and make themselves at home.

Real baboons also make a terrible mess.  But the evidence of the past eight weeks indicates that virtual baboons are much nicer, and will generally improve things when given the chance.

How are you at house-sitting ?  

The Baboon Congress

My Long Term Plan

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Today’s guest post comes from Sherrilee

I am not a big picture person. I appreciate that there are big picture people but I don’t aspire to be one of them. I like to do; I like to make lists and cross things off. Short range goals – sign me up. Long range goals – not so much.

LongTerm3

I live on a hill and I don’t like to cut the grass that much. In addition I’m not crazy about the idea of “lawn”, especially if it involves chemicals. So about 12 years ago I decided that I wanted less grass and more flowers, but my budget didn’t stretch too far at the nursery. So, even though it’s not what you would expect, I made a 15-year plan. It’s a pretty simple plan. Every year I add a little bit more, thin out a little bit more and move a little bit more. That’s the extent of the plan; I don’t have any layouts, spreadsheets or lists. Every spring I walk through Bachmans and Tangletown Gardens and pick out a few things. I often don’t even decide where any of these items will go until I get home. I’m particularly fond of lilies, irises and peonies, but I occasionally branch out. I bought 2 sedum from a guy selling plants off the back of his truck in Rogers; I got a pigsqueak after seeing it at a friend’s house.

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The front yard is farther along than the back – mostly because of dogs. They do a number on any landscaping. I eventually want a fountain (I have an artist friend who will be working on this with me) and a wooden lighthouse (about 4 feet high would be good). The fire pit and the wooden swing are in place already. I’m thinking a nice big deck as well, but I might have to fundraise for that!

LongTerm4

These days my yard is a riot of color every spring and summer and mowing takes about ¼ of the time it used to. When I pull up in my driveway or come around the corner from a walk I think “wow, whose great yard is that?” Then I happily think “it’s mine”. My long term plan is working out!

What’s one of your long-range goals?

The Baboon Congress, The Future

HOPE

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Today’s guest post comes from Clyde of Mankato 

“Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”

I suppose a few of you cannot identify that quote from Shawshank Redemption, a movie which portrays enduring hope as powerful, even when the only other option is despair, or maybe because the only other option is despair.

I do not picture myself as a hopeful person, but, as I think about the last fifty years, I see I often acted in hope. Because they are both about living in the present while preparing for the future, teaching and pastoring are hopeful acts. As is marriage.

Fifty years ago today Sandy and I stood in a church in Minneapolis and made promises to each other. The church, a substitute for a different church undergoing renovations, is named Hope. Two months later we joined a church in Dinkytown also named Hope. The coincidence of two churches named Hope struck us then and do me now. Without tracing why, I declare that hope is a thread woven through our marriage, not that I am offering anyone advice, mind you.

Pix 1

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tunes without the words and never stops at all.” Emily Dickinson

Pix 2 (1)As I recall, I acknowledge with too simple a point of view, the two predominate political forces of 1965 were hope and hate. Many candidates and people who garnered public attention spoke openly with hate, and with its camouflaged cousin superiority. While I am more a moderate than a liberal, I too hoped we would put an end to hate as a political force, not by law so much as by a change in the hearts of a greater mass of common people.

So here we are in 2015. Need I identify to what we have returned? To which I answer with a voice from 1965, Martin Luther King, Jr. “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

Ignoring the hate, where do you see hope?

The Baboon Congress, Travel

Last Child Syndrome

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Today’s guest post comes from Pluto.

We all know the story. First child gets all the brand new clothes, thousands of photos, scrapbooks. Second child gets a few new clothes, some photos. By the third child, it’s all stained hand-me-downs and no photos.

Well I’m the ninth child.

No new clothes and the only photos were from a distance, blurry.

Then it got worse.  At one point, some people who were desperate for attention make a big deal out of announcing that I’m actually a runt and a cousin, not the 9th child.

You’d think that this would be devastating but it’s turned out to be great for me.  I was suddenly the center of attention. Groups were formed to voice outrage over how I was being treated, t-shirts were printed. Somebody even started a Facebook page for me!

And now finally, after many years, lots and lots  of miles and a few snapshots, it turns out I’m not so insignificant after all.   In fact, I’m kind of fascinating.  Not just the baby of the family, I’m much much younger than all my relatives. They were forced to admit this when they got a clear look at my complexion – cool and moist without too much acne.

It’s not nice to gloat, but at this distance, who cares?   I’ve had my close up, and it turns out I look pretty good!

What rank do you hold in your familial Universe?  

 

 

The Baboon Congress

Managing the Menagerie Part II: Goat Trouble

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Today’s guest post comes from Cynthia in Mahtowa

January 19. Trouble Goat did it again…got his head stuck in the cattle panel fence…wouldn’t let me position it to get back out. So I got the hack saw and sawed off the tip of the troublesome horn. A bit bloody as I went too deep, but his head came out of that fence just fine and he went right to eating. Bleeding stopped quickly and maybe now he will be able to get his head out by himself…? But. he is a goat. And even though I call him “Buddy,” not “Trouble,” and even though there is nothing on the other side of the fence to eat, I suppose he will do it again.

Hardanger Fjord Norway Milking Goats Near Odde 1903 (from a Singley Keystone Stereoview)
Hardanger Fjord Norway Milking Goats Near Odde 1903 (from a Singley Keystone Stereoview)

 

February 21 The roof shed its winter load…in time for a new load. If you’re coming to visit me, bring a pick ax…or wear crampons.

April 5. Oh, and the barn pump is running water again…first time since February (or was it January). Hauling 8 gallons of water 2x a day for horses at an end. Now they say it might rain…and the melt…more water than I want to think about sloshing about barns and house.

May 17. Goats contained two days in a row…perhaps I did find the hole in the fence after all..

May 18. Smart goats…put them in the pasture, then they are in the yard. Put them in the pasture then they are in the yard. Third time they stopped a truck on the road and sweetly followed the young woman back to me. But they ain’t smart enough to not jump the fence in front of me so I know where they are escaping. Sagging fence fixed. aha!!!!

May 22. Trouble goat figured out he could jump out the barn window…Beretta did not follow. Barrier erected promptly, leaving a view for them to look out but not follow their yearning.

June 1. Trouble goat did a no-no yesterday, butted me on the pocket of my trousers that had eggs in it. Only one (egg) casualty. Oh, and a messy pocket.

Did you have a “Trouble” animal in your life?

The Baboon Congress

Managing the Menagerie Part I : Houdini Horse

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Today’s guest post comes from Cynthia in Mahtowa

Fall 2012

October 10: Brush of snow on the grass, loose horses in the yard…oops, guess they found the weakness in my fencing system…never good when the animals are smarter than their keeper.

October 15: So if you spend most of the weekend fixing fence and the horse still is loose in the yard on Monday morning…

October 16: All horses (2) stayed in their proper pasture for a full 24 hours…and counting.

October17: So,the proper pasture didn’t hold the big brown horse. Leaving the goat barn after milking this evening, I opened the door to the dark and a big, darker form standing in front of me. Hallo! Her saving grace is she followed me into the horse barn…where she is now locked in. We walked that damn fence three times, fixing and straightening and tightening…where IS she getting out now????

.October 18: It’s confirmed: The horse is indeed smarter than I am.

October 19: Now she’s really messing with my mind…she wasn’t in the yard last night when I got home. She didn’t come when she was called. I worried she was caught in wire somewhere in the pasture, so I took my trusty flashlight and went looking for her, only to return and find her standing in the barn calmly eating chicken food. So was she waiting so she could freak me out or did she respond to the Icelandic’s call? Think like a horse, someone advised. Ja, sure, you betcha, no problem!

Horses in the pasture where they belong.
Horses in the pasture where they belong.

October 20: On Saturday, I stalked the horse at sunset, hoping to see where she was getting out. As she stood at the fence gazing across the road at the neighbor’s clover field, I thought, “Aha, I’m going to catch her at it!” Then she turned around and followed me back to the barn.

Oct 22: So, to update on Monday morning: four of us walked the fence line again with new posts to reinforce the height of the top line. Then we worked on the goat fence that still had an opening. Turned the horses loose in the goat pasture…this morning all animals were in their proper places (did I mention the goat who was escaping her pen overnight?). Final installment of the ongoing saga, finally?

October 26: Horses stayed in their pasture. The goat stayed in her pen. All is as it should be.

Have you ever been outsmarted by an animal?

Music, The Baboon Congress

Summer in the Music

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Header image by Brian Moen on Flickr. Used under Creative Commons nc-nd 2.0

Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

Last week Husband and I had an uncharacteristically active week in the “going out for music” scene. I am usually a slug on summer evenings and weekends; but it seems the planets, the offerings, and ”logistic serendipity” lined up to make this possible.

Blues_fest

Last Saturday of July we took the Light Rail Green Line over to the Second Annual (FREE) Lowertown Blues Festival, held in Mears Park, a lovely square in downtown St. Paul near the river.

Although we are in no way blues aficionados, we enjoyed the two bands we heard, “Lisa Wenger & Her Mean Mean Men”, and “Jimmi and the Band of Souls”; also on the schedule were Elvin Bishop and Walter Trout. It was one of the Ten Perfect Days, and the people watching was fabulous – from lots of us old folks to barely-walking toddlers.

Claudia_Sally

Thursday evening found us at the Gingko Coffee House, also in St. Paul for an intimate, warm (the A/C started functioning again around 7:30), and rousing concert by Claudia Schmidt and Sally Rogers.   (Did you know they have now collaborated on three CDs? Or that Claudia now lives on Nicollet Island in Mpls?) What a joy! With two guitars and two dulcimers each, they played old favorites (Spoon River, Lovely Agnes, and the Berrymans’ A Chat with Your Mother) and new material. Claudia’s poem about humidity had us rolling. Baboons were well represented: PJ (who brought her 94 year-old-friend Eleanor), Linda, Lisa, and BiR & Michael.

On Friday we ventured out to Lake Harriet Bandshell in S. Mpls for The New Primitives, one of the best Reggae bands around, who play music “composed of ska, rock, Afro-Cuban, Caribbean and Mexican music, a soulful long simmering stew…”.   So much fun to dance to when we all get in their groove, and we always run into old friends there.

What kind of music will get you out of the house for a live concert or festival?

The Baboon Congress

Pastry Dreams

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We looked at the weather before our trip and we knew it would be cool in the mornings in the mountains. But although we took warm clothes, we seriously underestimated our ability to enjoy a cold breakfast out of the cooler on cold mornings.

That’s how we ended up driving through Castle Rock early one morning last week, looking for a warmer breakfast. We found a tiny little pastry shop, Dream Pastries, tucked between some other storefronts.

Pastry1

Wonderful, marvelous fancy pastries and good hot coffee – nothing frapped, latte’d or macchiato’ d. In addition to the great breakfast, the little shop has a wonderful modge podge of different tables and chairs, as if the owner had shopped at garage sales for his furniture. And along the walls there was shelving covered in cake plates!

Pastry2

All colors and sizes, some foster glass from the 40s and 50s, some fancy plates with “jewels” draped on them and some just whimsical designs. I asked the owner about the plates and how long it had taken him to collect them all. He also shared with me that if you purchase a cake from the bakery, you can borrow one of the cake plates to serve it on.

It made me wish I lived in Castle Rock.

As we drove away, it made me think of my collections.

Pastry4

My first “collection” started when I was in 5th grade. My folks took a long weekend trip to Kentucky and when they returned they brought me a brown ceramic pig bank. They’d seen in a shop there and thought I might like it.  He sits up and the hole is on the bottom with a big cork plug. I was charmed with him, kept him on my dresser and in the mysterious ways that these things happen, I received another fun pig bank for my birthday later that year.

So suddenly I was in the piggy bank collection business. I have about 50 pig banks these days, most of them stored in the attic since Young Adult was born. To make my collection a pig bank has to be really unusual, so I don’t add to the collection much. My goal is for them to eventually come back out of the attic, but I may have to wait until my youngest cat becomes less of a “knocker offer”.

Do you have any collections?

The Baboon Congress

Doubting Your Own Memory

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Today’s guest post comes from PlainJane

 

Many years ago, I’m guessing 1977 or 78, I attended a PHC show on the campus of St. Kate’s.  I don’t remember who was on the show, but I recall vividly that when Garrison was holding forth with the News From Lake Wobegon, he became so enthralled with his own yarn that he completely forgot about time.  Mesmerized, the audience sat, leaning forward in their seats, and let themselves be transported to that magical place that only a good story teller can take you.

By the time his new report ended and he realized that he had exceeded the time allocated for the live radio show, there was nothing he could do about it.  So, he causally mentioned that the show had run long, but that we might as well just finish up with some music, after which there was a stampede for the bathrooms.

Last year was the 40th anniversary of the PHC, and everyone remotely familiar with the show was reminiscing about their favorite PHC memories.  But I didn’t see or hear anyone ever mentioning the show that had continued past it’s live broadcasting time.  I began to doubt that it had ever happened.  Until yesterday, that is.

Garrison wrote on FB about a show he had done the previous night.  The show had lasted three hours, too long for a weeknight in his own estimation.  He had promised himself earlier in his career, he said, to not be so long-winded, but admitted that it was a promise he hadn’t been able to keep, but a promise he is rededicating himself to.

One of the responses he got to this post was a from a woman in Eagan.  She, too, had attended that PHC show that had gone overtime.  I responded to her that I had been at that show at St. Kate’s, and she confirmed that that was in fact where it was.

I have mentioned that show to others a couple of times, but have never met anyone who had heard about it, or believed it.  I feel vindicated.

When have you come to doubt a memory?